


a lifetime of you

by softresurrection



Series: side by side [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Developing Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, i barely put anyone other than the necessary characters in this, jon has some angst to sort through in life, jons called jaeherys for half of this btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 02:17:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14274774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softresurrection/pseuds/softresurrection
Summary: Sansa remembered thinking that she would not mind being wedded to Prince Jaeherys.





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> own nothing at all, all characters and settings belong to grrm and unfortunately, d&d
> 
> Also for the sake of my little story, I would like for you to erase from your mind the crucial little fact that Dragonstone, being an island, is only accessible by ship. I forgot about that while writing it yikes

The Kingsroad was a dreary picture when the Stark procession rose at first light. The sky was a dull grey and the road was muddy from the light rain the night before. 

Sansa Stark mounted her horse, a beautiful mare with a dazzling white coat which she brushed and tended to herself. It had been gifted to her by her father on her fifteenth nameday, which had been almost eight moons ago. That had been when she'd properly started taking an interest in riding again. Before then, she had classified riding as unladylike and hadn't ridden for pleasure since she had been ten and one. She had deemed it an activity better suited for her sister Arya than for Sansa herself, who was being primed to become a princess soon. However, after she'd received Moonlight, as she'd loving named the horse, her interest in riding had been reignited and she had arranged lessons for twice every sennight. In her heart, Sansa thanked herself for having learnt how to ride well enough to keep up with her father's men, or she would have constantly been cooped up in the litter, as her lady mother had been. 

Only Arya was riding next to her, although she slowed down often to chat with one of the members of the household who had accompanied them on their journey south. The lack of a handmaid or a friend made itself apparent to Sansa when she had to ride silently for hours on end, with only herself for company. She especially missed the company of her best friend, Jeyne Poole, who was unable to accompany her due to being taken ill at an especially inopportune time. At the same time, however, Sansa was only half hearted in her longing for Jeyne's company because she knew the steward's daughter well enough to know that her only response to Sansa's hesitation would be of the sort that would make her feel ungrateful. 

By herself, she had enough time to linger on the faint memories of Prince Jaeherys she retained. She had time to imagine the man he had become. Sansa could barely remember what he had looked like as a child, and even her active imagination could not picture a grown version of him in her head. 

As a child, Jaeherys had preferred spending time with Robb and a baby Arya, rather than with her. Even at those tender ages of six and nine, they had both known that one day they would be wedded to one other. That had been enough to make them awkward and formal towards each other, never conversing past the required courtesies.

At least not more than the one time he had sat with her in the godswood. It had been after a game of Come Into My Castle between her and Robb had been interrupted by a servant telling Robb that their father had need of him. Jon had not played with them, but he sat to the side, applauding at the knight's heroics. After Robb left, Sansa had gone to the godswood to sit alone. She remembered feeling extremely distraught about the fact that Robb would soon be a man grown, leaving her to be alone. He never wanted to play anymore and when she did manage to rope him into a game, he always ended up leaving in the middle of it. Sansa had known that things had to change at one point or another, but could they not stay the same for just a little while longer? Sitting teary eyed in front of the heart tree, she had felt a presence behind her. When she whirled around to see who it was, it had been Jaeherys. Hastily wiping the tears from her face, she had tried to act as if she was perfectly fine. 

However, Jaeherys had been so kind and understanding that she had broken down into tears again. When she had explained what the cause of her weeping was, he'd told her that no matter what, Robb loved her more than he loved anything else in the world. His eyes were so solemn and truthful that she had no choice but to accept it for the truth. After that, they had sat together in a comforting silence until dusk, when Jon had gotten up and offered her his arm. They had walked back to the keep together, and Sansa remembered thinking that she would not mind being wedded to Prince Jaeherys. 

Yet, that had been almost ten years ago. Who knew what Jaeherys Targaryen was like now? She did not presume to know him based on one encounter in their childhood, and the few short and courteous letters that they had exchanged after he had left Winterfell a year after his arrival. 

Sansa had met Lyanna Stark, or rather, Queen Lyanna Targaryen, a handful of times since then. Her aunt had visited Winterfell- her childhood home- and her brothers family thrice, but Prince Jaeherys had accompanied her only one of those times. Sansa's father was not very fond of his sister, not like he was of his brother, her Uncle Benjen who was a Black Knight of the Wall. She understood his feelings as he had started a war for his sister's honor and the consequences of her apparent kidnapping had been enormously devastating to the Starks. Finding out that she was alive and had happily become one of Rhaegar Targaryen's two wives must have been a shocking betrayal in her father's eyes. However, Ned Stark had not let his disappointment in his sister ruin his relationship with his nephew and the two exchanged letters regularly. 

Her only other meeting with Queen Lyanna had been at a tourney at Riverrun which she had attended with her mother and Robb, her Lord father had not accompanied them. Her aunt had been courteous to Robb, Sansa and their mother, but somehow her disdain shined even through her polite words. She clearly abhorred the fact that her brother had married a Southron woman, and that the Stark heir was a boy who looked completely Southron. She had ignored the fact that her lady mother had borne three Northern children at the time, and that it had been the first time Sansa and Robb had ever even visited the South. However, her approval was clear whenever she looked at Arya, who probably reminded her of herself. Wild, fierce and a Northern kind of beauty. She undoubtedly wished that her beloved son had been betrothed to a 'proper Northener' rather than Sansa, who she believed to be a flowery excuse of a Northern girl. 

Right then, Sansa wished that it really had been Arya who was getting wedded within a fortnight, not her. She knew that everyone expected her to be delighted at the prospect of being a princess, but she had gotten used to the idea at a very young age. Surprisingly, it did not bring joy to her heart as it had once used to. 

She carried the loss of her home like a torch in her heart. In her childhood, Sansa had hated the constant cold winds of the North, and the way that only one type of rose could ever bloom on the frigid ground. Yet, as she had blossomed into a girl, she had fallen in love with the vastness of the land and the hot springs running through the godswood. It hurt her heart to think that one day she would be like Queen Lyanna to Robb's future children, her nephews and nieces. They would never know of all the times she'd ran through those halls, of all the games she'd played in those grounds, of all the feasts she'd attended in the Great Keep. 

Shaking her head, Sansa forcefully pulled herself out of her melancholy thoughts. After all, what cause could she have to be sad? She would be a princess soon. She would have her own castle, and be known as the Princess of Dragonstone for the rest of her life. She would be the wife of the most powerful royalty in Westeros after the King and his heir. Sansa's old home, her old friends were things that she would miss dreadfully, but not things she could not adapt to life without. At least that's what she kept telling herself the rest of the way to the place where they'd be taking their midday meal. 

As they reached the inn, Sansa's eyes focused on her father. He wasn't very far from her, as their party consisted only of forty people. Yet, she could not ride with him as he was at the head of the party while his children were in the protected middle. She dismounted her horse with the help of Jory Cassel, one of the guards father had brought along with him. He was Ser Rodrick's nephew, and he greatly resembled the Master at Arms. Sansa thanked him with a smile. She remembered all the times her brother had helped her dismount her horse, suddenly missing Robb like a limb. 

Her brother had not been able to come with them, as their father had insisted that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. She still hadn't got used to the fact that she wouldn't see him again for many, many moons. Sansa was close to her family, she loved her lady mother and had always strived to be like her and she wanted to be as honorable and kind to the smallfolk as her father was. She doted on her little brothers, Bran, who was riding up front with Father, and Rickon, who was riding in the litter with Mother. She even loved Arya, who would always be her little sister, despite her many faults. 

Yet, she felt a kinship with Robb that she didn't with anyone else in their family. They had been siblings before the others were even born, that had left a certain solidarity in both of their hearts. When he was told he could not be there to see her wed, he had hugged her with tears in his eyes. It had stung her heart, knowing that her beloved brother would not be coming with them to her wedding. 

Again, she thought, with the wedding. She chided herself to stop dwelling on the inevitable and decided to focus on the present. The inn was not much, but it was cleaner than outside and had food to offer. As they all washed their hands and faces after long hours of riding, the food was delivered to their tables. They hadn't overtly disclosed who they were, but seeing the direwolves on their clothes, the innkeepers had realized who they were. Her family were seated in a clean area and the wenches did not make any bawdy advances towards them. 

The bread was good and the stew was thick, sating Sansa's growling stomach. She made sure to eat decently despite the growling in her stomach, unlike Arya, who was sipping leftover stew from the bowl like a soup. Gods, her sister was almost a wild animal. She would worry about Arya's marriage prospects but she knew that Arya was fascinating in such a way that she would draw suitors in easily. Much like Queen Lyanna had been. Girls like her didn't have that liberty. Not that Sansa minded acting ladylike, she felt that she did what was right, no matter if it was proper, and a lot of the time it did end up being proper. 

After Sansa was finished with the meal, she excused herself from the table and went to wash up in a room she had told the innkeeper to get ready for her before their meal had began. She knew she barely had an hour before the men were all done, and their party set out again. The moment she entered the room, she fell for the bed. She did not care if she had one hour or ten, she needed sleep. The night before had all been spent tossing and turning in anxiety for meeting her future husband. She had barely managed to drowsy lightly for an hour or two. Sansa closed her eyes, willing sleep to take her. 

What felt like a blink later, she was rudely shaken awake by Arya. "Wake up, princess, are you going to sleep till tomorrow?" The word princess was said with a scoff, so derisively that it might as well have been 'wench'. Sansa raised her head, absolutely exhausted. 

"Gods, don't I just wish I could. Go away, I'll be there in a moment." She sighed, waving a dismissive hand in Arya's direction. Her sister snorted at her, banging the door while leaving. Sansa stood up, running a taming hand through her sleep ruffled hair. She walked out, and handed a few gold dragons to the innkeeper's wife, much more than she owed her. She received an appreciative smile in return. 

The rest of the way to the inn where they would spend the night, Sansa travelled in the litter. With her head on her mothers shoulder, she dropped like a rock. She only awakened when her mother gently shook her arm. "Sansa, wake up, my love. We've reached." 

Sansa groggily woke up, walking into the inn with her mother and her energetic little brother. Instead of eating dinner, she went straight to her room and collapsed onto the bed. Her exhaustion had been exacerbated by all those hours spent riding. She was used to riding by now, but she had never ridden such long distances and for so many days in a row. Her back and hips both ached. They were only a short way from Dragonstone now, and would be there before nightfall the next day. She drifted to sleep, and woke up from a dreamless slumber only an hour before first light. 

The next day went almost exactly like the day before. The only difference was that Sansa felt much more well rested and slept peacefully after exhaustion from a full day of riding, despite her heightened anxiety at the prospect of her impending meeting with the prince. The procession had stopped for a longer rest at the inn they took their midday meal at, and as a result they arrived at Dragonstone a day after planned. However, it made no real change to the plans. 

They arrived at Dragonstone early in the morning. To say it cut an imposing sight would be understating the sheer grimness of the palace. Sansa knew she would call this place home for the rest of her life, and so she tried to see it in a positive light. The entire structure was made of onyx rock, it was arresting to say the least. She could see a massive black tower, the rest of what she could glimpse was all covered in sculptures of dragons. Gods, who loved dragons that much? Then, she bit her tongue and laughed at herself. She was marrying into Targaryens, she should expect to see those damned dragons in her dreams. 

Finally, they passed the gate and entered the courtyard of the castle. The household was lined up to greet them at the entrance of the keep. Jaeherys Targaryen was a striking figure, standing in the front. From her position, she could glean that he was tall, and his coloring was still entirely of his mother's, he had not somehow sprouted silver hair over the ten years she had not seen him. For some reason, she had been expecting something like that. His hair was long enough that it curled at the sides of his neck, and he was wearing a white doublet with a grey cloak, the colors of the Starks. She supposed it was an honor that the prince had donned the colors of his mother's house in anticipation of their arrival. 

As her Lord father descended from his horse, Prince Jaeherys moved forward. Ned Stark took a few steps and then bowed low, "Your Grace."

His nephew looked embarrassed for a second before tapping his uncles shoulder and motioning for him to straighten up. After a quick hug, he moved further ahead to the two sisters. 

Sansa thought he would be heading straight towards her, she shifted her position and got ready to be helped off her horse. However, when Jaeherys reached them, he first helped Arya off and she gave him a fierce hug. Sansa was sure humiliation shined though the veneer of calm that remained on her face, she wondered if Arya was actually stupid enough to be in love with Sansa's betrothed. She'd known that Arya and him had exchanged letters for years, but she had had no idea that their relationship apparently ran deep enough for him to snub his future wife in front of so many people just to to be able to embrace Arya. 

Sansa felt furious enough that she turned her head and jumped off of Moonlight herself. She felt herself land wrong on her left foot but walked forwards with a stoic face despite the wringing pain in her ankle.  
She walked up to where her father was standing with her mother, and stood there, waiting for Jaeherys and Arya to come back. 

Her betrothed and her sister approached them, his face sheepish while hers was totally unapologetic. "Lady Sansa, I'm deeply sorry if I have offended you. I was going to greet you right after your sister let me go." He said the last words towards Arya, mussing her hair. Her sister laughed loudly, punching him in the side. 

Sansa spoke, if only to stop their horsing around. "You have not offended me, your grace. I am perfectly capable of dismounting a horse on my own, and you have greeted me now." She did not punctuate her words with a smile, but that was the extent of the impoliteness in her words. Her tone, however, was almost mocking. Exactly like the tone their Septa used on Arya when she finally finished a shoddy embroidery piece with huge stitches and ugly designs. Sansa was nothing if not a good student. 

"I am glad. I have been looking forward to meeting you for many moons." He looked uncomfortable saying the words, as if someone had told him to. She would be willing to wager that someone had. Despite his expression, she found him ruggedly handsome up close. His grey eyes were almond shaped and seemed very solemn, despite the fact that he had been laughing just minutes previously. 

"As I have looked forward to you." Her tone this time was polite, but still mostly cold. Sansa was not a girl who took kindly to being ignored and embarrassed in front of a hundred people, if not more. She was not sure that kind of girl existed in the world. Not even Arya would have been able to excuse it if her betrothed had greeted Sansa before her, and so exuberantly too. 

It was still a thought in her mind when the doors to the keep opened, and Sansa's family walked inside where they were shown to their chambers immediately. The rooms were spacious and beautifully decorated with ornate furniture. Sansa's handmaid lit her special soothing candles, which gave off a peaceful lavender scent. She laid down for a quick rest, most of which she spent lying in her bed and thinking about how to not make a mess of this whole situation. Her betrothed was clearly in love with her sister. Gods, how would she get out of this one? When she finally got up, it was time to go to the great hall for the feast. 

Sansa's handmaids had laid out a beautiful grey gown for her to wear. It was decorated with pearls on the neckline and the bodice, and had great billowing sleeves in the Southern style. The neckline was wide and instead of being revealing in the sense where it went down, it showed off her collarbones. It was a much more demure way of showing skin, and yet it showed plenty. Then Lyarra, one of her handmaids, intricately braided the front of her hair into four braids, which she pinned back onto her head. The rest of her thick, auburn hair was left cascading down her back. 

As Sansa was getting up to walk to the great hall, she heard a knock on her door. As she opened it, to her great surprise, it was Prince Jaeherys who stood there to escort her to the feast. When she got her first look at him, she was a little bit surprised that he was still wearing Stark colors and then, against her own will, found him to be looking criminally handsome. He, too, at least seemed to find her aesthetically pleasing, if she was going off the look on his face when he got his first glance at her in her dress. "You look radiant, my lady." He said it in a very appreciative way, which made Sansa feel just a little more reassured of where they stood. 

"Thank you, my prince. As do you. I must admit I'm surprised that you're here to escort me to the feast." Sansa cursed herself for letting the last sentence slip out of her mouth. She just couldn't keep her bitterness to herself, could she?

Jaeherys looked confused. "And why do you think I would not escort you, my lady? Have I been remiss in my duties as a host?"

Sansa was bewildered at his apparent actual confusion. Had he really not noticed that he was snubbing her? "I must admit that I was of the notion you would escort Arya."

Once again, Jaeherys looked puzzled. "I thought I should take the opportunity to start getting to know you better? You are my betrothed, after all, not Arya." He said the last sentence with a smile indicating he thought that idea was preposterous. Was he really not torn up inside about marrying someone else? Maybe he wasn't in love with her and Sansa had misconstrued the situation. She sincerely hoped it was that. 

Sansa started walking, with the Prince in tandem. "You're right, I find it odd that we are to be wedded in one fortnight's time and yet I do not know the slightest thing about you."

Jaeherys smiled at her. "And I you. But you are a fascinating lady and I would be honored to get the chance to truly know you."

She lowered her head as a blush reddened her face, she was glad it was dark in the hallways or else he would have known that just a small compliment had made her so flustered. Sansa truly didn't know what caused her to do so, she was a beautiful girl and had always received her fair share of compliments. And yet, she thought, no one had ever called her fascinating before. 

"You shall get the chance, my prince. I am yours to know, after all." She didn't know what took over her, to make such a bold statement. She raised her head to see his reaction and it made a confusing feeling arise in her stomach when she saw his face. Jaeherys looked as if he was in wonder at the fact that she had so easily proclaimed herself as his. 

In lieu of replying, he offered Sansa his arm as they reached the doors to the great hall. The feast had started, with some guests still trickling in and yet, when Prince Jaeherys entered, the room paid a moment of silent respect to him. He held her arm until they arrived at the head table, where the guests of honor sat. When they reached, she smiled at him before going into a small curtsy after which she sat down. Sansa kept an eye on him as he moved three seats ahead to his own chair in the middle of the table. His mouth was upturned as he sat down, and he glanced back at her once. 

When their eyes caught, Sansa blushed once again, but did not break the gaze. In the end, he was the one to look away, smiling slightly and shaking his head. She looked back down towards the table, deciding to think on everything else tomorrow. Tonight was supposed to be a night of making merry, wasn't it? She could deal with the fact that her sister might possibly be in love with her betrothed tomorrow. She scooped out some goat stew into her bowl, eating it with warm, freshly baked bread. There were seasoned potatoes to go along with the dish, which Sansa ate hungrily. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, after all. There was also braised duck and a special kind of dish where meat had been cooked in wine. She tried a little of each, especially liking the duck. When dessert came out, and it included lemon cakes, she couldn't help her little squeal of delight. Arya and Bran both giggled with her, spurred by her enthusiasm. She heard another low laugh down the table. When she turned her head, she saw Jaeherys looking at the three of them and chuckling softly. She mouthed "thank you" under her breath while pointing at the lemon cakes. He mouthed back an exaggerated "you're welcome" which made her laugh. The reason she was so grateful was that she knew she had mentioned liking lemon cakes once offhandedly in a letter. The fact that he had actually attentively read her letters, and had specifically gotten her favourite dessert made, made her feel special and soft towards him. 

"Jon! Jon, tell them what you told me, with the fire!" Arya excitedly leaned over the table and exclaimed at Jaeherys. 

Jon? Why would she call the Prince that? Sansa had absolutely no idea why Arya would call him that, but Jaeherys responded to the name. Great. Another inside thing between her betrothed and her sister who might or might not be in love with each other. Sansa wanted to shriek right then about how unfair and confusing this all was for her. Instead, she wiped her mouth and looked towards Jaeherys, curiously listening to his explanation of what Arya had meant. 

"It was nothing, really. There was this servant girl who overturned a candle while walking and the tapestry next to the candle stand caught fire. The girl ran off and told the first person she saw, who just happened to be me. And, well, my arm was in the fire for a long time while I tried to put it out so it couldn't cause more damage than it already had. But, it just- it just never burnt, I suppose? That's it, however. Yesterday, I got burnt by my bedside candle on my little finger." He told the whole story with a certain hesitation, like he was aware of the reaction it would induce and he didn't want that kind of attention on him. That was why he had undermined the gift and ended his story on an uncertain smile. 

The reaction was exactly as he had apparently expected. Father asked him if he knew whether anyone else in the family currently had the trait. Mother told him to not go looking for fires, lest he get hurt in proving himself. Bran exclaimed in wonder while Arya looked at everyone else in smugness for having known the story first. It was only Sansa who did not show any reaction at all. She was so conspicuous in her absence of a remark that with a start, she realized Jaeherys was looking right at her. When she quirked an eyebrow, silently questioning him, he just shook his head and looked back at his food. And yet, she could see the slight upturn of his mouth. 

Afterwards, Jaeherys himself led his uncle, aunt and cousins towards the area where all of them had their chambers. 

Everyone else had entered their chambers, claiming exhaustion, including Arya. It surprised Sansa that she would leave Sansa alone with her beloved. Sansa's handmaids went ahead of her to ready her room, and one of them scurried back from the kitchens with steaming water for a bath. It was only her and Jaeherys left standing in the hall. "The feast was lovely. Thank you for welcoming us in such a way, your grace." She latched onto the only thing she could say without sounding awkward. 

"No need for thanks, my lady. And please, call me by my name. There's absolutely no need for such formalities between us. I insist." Jaeherys spoke in a low, raspy tone. 

She laughed, a light sound. "In the same conversation, you say that there's no need for formalities and also call me by my title. Charming, but you can call me Sansa. I don't mind."

He smiled too, looking amused by his own slip. "Then, Sansa. I want to ask something of you." 

She knew her answer was too brash but she couldn't stop herself from saying, "Anything."

His eyes were dark naturally but in this moment, they almost seemed black. He cleared his throat. "I would like to see you tomorrow, my- Sansa. If you would meet me in Aegon's Garden before sunrise, I would feel very lucky."

Jaeherys could probably see that she was hesitating. On the one hand, Sansa desperately wanted to get to know her future husband better. On the other, she didn't know what would happen if she was discovered. She didn't want anybody to think of her as improper or to think that she had tainted her honor in any way. 

Another reason, albeit a small one, was that she didn't want to break Arya's heart without at least having a conversation about it. She vowed to herself that she would do that tomorrow. There was nothing she could do to change it, she had been betrothed to Jaeherys since birth and it really was Arya's fault if she had fallen in love with him despite knowing the fact, but her pity for her little sister outweighed any other feeling in her heart. 

"Sansa, you do not have to come if you do not wish to. It's just that there's no godwood on Dragonstone. So, I pray in Aegon's Garden. There's no weirwood or heart tree but I carved a face on a tree and I make do. I do not know if you remember but a happy memory I have of us is one of the godswood when-"

"When you comforted me about Robb and I growing up. I remember, Jaeherys. I wasn't sure you did. Gods, we were so young." Sansa's breath was a little unsteady. He obviously didn't mean to dishonor her in any way, maybe she could go? 

"We were. I felt so solemn, holding you, promising that nothing would go wrong. I already knew you would be mine to protect some day." Jaeherys said it so nonchalantly that she decided then. 

"Wait for me. In Aegon's Garden before sunrise. I'll be there." She said it so suddenly that Jaeherys looked surprised, and then pleased, in equal measures. 

"I bid you farewell, then, my lady. Have a good night's sleep. I look forward to seeing you."

"And I you, my prince." With that, she opened her door and dreamily traipsed into her room. 

 

It was still dark outside the next time Sansa rose from her bed. As she put on a robe over her linen nightshift, she gave herself time to think about the situation at hand. 

She was going to meet with her betrothed in this castle's approximation of a godswood. It was yet not first light and if anyone caught them together, Sansa's honor would surely not escape the ordeal unbesmirched. The other tiny, niggling thought in her brain was of Arya. She was not yet sure that the prince was not in love with Arya, although he had not shown any such reservation in their single conversation so far. And she had never claimed to be the best sister to Arya, but she loved her sister enough to keep her feelings in her mind even as she crept out of her room in the direction of the garden. 

The hallways were dark, and the candle she was holding did little to light up their long length. Some candleholders were placed along the way but they had been lit last night, and so they were almost completely burnt out. As she reached the training yard, she realized that Jaeherys had given her no directions, instead trusting her to use her instincts to lead the way. And she had, she was just a few steps away from the the main entrance of the garden. 

It did not look anything like a godswood. The trees were not the white of weirwood bark, they were tall and dark and thorny. The hedges were large and overgrown, the entire garden was overgrown. The scent that permeated her nose was pleasant and piney. The aura of the place was completely undisturbed, as if it had been left to its own machinations long ago and had not been the focus of a gardener since then. It possessed a different kind of beauty to a godswood, but she felt like she could call upon the old gods there. She had always been partial to the Faith of the Seven, and it would not pain her to pray to them, but she would miss the complete peace of the Winterfell godswood and its towering, beautiful heart tree with all her heart. 

Sansa ventured further into the garden, walking deep within its boundaries. She spotted a clearing a little distance away where she caught a glimpse of the prince, sitting on a dark log. She treaded towards him lightly. 

"It is a beautiful garden, truly." Sansa made her presence known with a true compliment. 

She saw Jaeherys startle a little, although he disguised it very well. "Sansa. I did not think you were coming." He had stood up to receive her and looked pleased. 

She put her hand to her heart, feigning shock. "My prince commands me and I do not come? How could it be?" 

Jaeherys grinned widely at her, "Your prince," he said the word as if it meant nothing,"also told you to not call him that. Did that order not count?"

"Of course it did not. He just told me I do not have to listen to his orders." She responded playfully. 

He laughed alongside her, "You are truly relentless. I enjoy conversing with you." He said the last sentence with a relief that mirrored Sansa's. 

Without giving a reply, she sat down, motioning for him to sit right next to her. For a few minutes, they both remained in silence. A peaceful silence. It almost reminded her of her childhood memory. Then, Jaeherys spoke. "I do not know if you know this but I prefer being called another name when in private."

Sansa was confused at his words, before a clarification was made in her head and she realized what he meant. "You mean Jon?"  
He looked surprised at the fact that she knew his other title. 

As he nodded, she sought to clarify herself. "I heard Arya call you that yesterday. I did not understand why, but if it is what you prefer to be called, I will call you that."

"You have no other questions? You do not wish to know why I do not prefer being called by my given Targaryen name?" He looked puzzled at her apparent lack of interest. 

Sansa felt that she should let him know she cared about him enough to disregard whatever name he chose for himself, not the other way around. "I care about you being at the greatest ease with me, not about your Targaryen name and your Stark name. I would love to know your reasons, but I do not need them to respect your wish." 

She supposed she understood his reasons without his explanation anyway. He had grown up at Dragonstone, only meeting his Targaryen family at very special occasions. He was close to his Stark family and to feel like he was at least part of one great dynasty, he had altered his name. At least in front of the people who mattered to him. Sansa's treacherous heart fluttered in her chest at the thought that he considered her in high enough regard to trust her with his name. 

Suddenly, an unwelcome thought struck her and her joy turned to dust in her mouth. Arya had known too. She still had to talk to her sister about Jon and to Jon about her sister. She had to know if she was caught in the middle of an inappropriate affair, she could not let herself get swept away in her childish fancies until she knew for sure. And yet, despite her hesitations, sitting quietly with her betrothed on the log felt more comfortable than any other company she could remember keeping. 

The pair of them sat like that until the break of dawn, when she stood. "I am afraid it's time for me to go, Jon." 

Jon stood up with her, brushing off the seat of his breeches. "I understand. If I may ask something of you?" 

"Yet another request? I must admit I am beginning to think my prince is a very demanding man." Sansa teased him lightly. 

"This is the only demand I make of your time, I promise. I have greatly enjoyed sitting with you today. If you would like, we could make this into a daily activity?" Jon looked nervous about her answer, and yet confident in his request. 

Sansa's laugh twinkled lightly through the garden. "I would be happy to feel this peace everyday for the rest of my life, my prince." She said, as she walked away from him, leaving Jon alone in the garden.


	2. two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had broken his spirit when he realized that it wasn't that Sansa was an uncommon girl who was not fond of romance with a prince, it was this particular bastard prince in question that she was not fond of.

When Jon had been a child, he would sit in the Sea Dragon tower for hours on end. He would craft letters for his aunt Dany and his half siblings, Egg and Rhaenys, while sitting on a ledge of a window which overlooked the serene sea. Even as a child, he had given up hope on his father writing back to him. Rhaegar was but a faint figure in his head, whom he met occasionally, but never for long. 

When he was nine, Jon had travelled to Winterfell for a year. He had scarcely written to Kings Landing, then. He had discovered new family, his real family. His cousin Robb was the happiest and most welcoming boy he had ever met and despite Jon's naturally solemn nature, within a moon, Jon and Robb had grown so close that they referred to each other only as brothers. However, the one out of his cousins who he had grown the closest to was little Arya. She had looked just like him, with the same long face and steel grey eyes. Jon felt like she was his blood sister. And as for his uncle, at his young age, he had adopted Ned Stark as the father figure in his mind. His Aunt Catelyn was a kind woman, yet he could not help but keep a distance from her because his mother did the same and he did not seek to earn the queen's ire

 

In the North, Queen Lyanna Targaryen was considered a disgrace. Even though he would not hear a word against his mother, no one he met seemed to hold a grudge against him for her perceived wrongdoings. 

His mother lived with him at Dragonstone, her presence unwelcome in the capital. The King ensured the loyalty of the Martells by keeping Aegon as his heir, and Lyanna as barely more than a glorified mistress. His mother had not seemed to mind, she rarely spoke of her husband.  
However, as he grew up he understood her wistful silences after she finished telling him stories that involved princes and fair maidens. Jon saw what his mother had suffered, alone, with no family that trusted her and no husband that would fight for her. Therefore, he tried to abide by her judgements when she would make them. 

Another one of these judgements was her disdain for his cousin, Sansa. As she was his betrothed, he had observed a certain degree of reserve with her from the very start, not wanting to dishonor her in any way. After a while, the formality between them along with his mother's subtle taunts, made him keep his distance from his cousin. 

Over the years, though Lyanna had met Sansa many times, she had never praised her future gooddaughter in front of Jon. When she had gone to Riverrun two years ago, she had come back with comments about how Sansa was a flowery, vapid girl filed with the frippery of the South. 

In the start, Jon had tried to agree with his mother but as they had grown up, Jon and Sansa had exchanged a few letters. His cousin was not particularly verbose in her letters but she had a sweet, kind sort of courtesy deeply embedded in her every word. Although her letters were usually short and sometimes stilted, she would gush about the things she loved when asked. Her passion had enraptured him and he remembered feeling scared that she obviously had not felt the same towards him as he did towards her. She did not sound like a romantic girl. 

At the same time, in the letters he exchanged with Arya, Jon would sometimes lightly inquire about Sansa. As far as he had known, the two sisters did not get along very well and yet, Arya had much to say about Sansa's love for romance. That had been what had truly dampened his burgeoning enthusiasm for developing a real courtship with Sansa. At the time, he had even been considering going to Winterfell for a few moons so as to get to know Sansa in depth. However, it had broken his spirit when he realized that it wasn't that Sansa was an uncommon girl who was not fond of romance with a prince, it was this particular bastard prince in question that she was not fond of. 

Then, Jon had not written her regularly until a few moons before her arrival in Dragonstone was scheduled. His correspondence with her had still been light and basic, yet his treacherous heart had once again developed an interest in her. 

The day on which she had arrived to Dragonstone would remain in Jon's head forever. He had helped Arya dismount from her horse before he had turned to help her fair companion, who had somehow disappeared without his notice. It was only as he walked back to his uncle that he realized Lady Catelyn was also present with him, along with the beautiful girl who had been riding alongside Arya. He had felt like slapping himself later when he realized that in his wait for Lady Sansa to get out of the litter, he had completely missed the fact that it was her on the white horse. 

In his defense, he had been expecting her to disembark from the litter rather a horse, as all the things he'd heard about her had pointed to Sansa being a perfect lady. It had still made him feel stupid to have hurt Sansa unknowingly, by snubbing her in front of all the people present in the courtyard of the castle. When he had tried to smooth the waters with courtesy, she had responded in kind, yet her wounded pride showed in the coldness she treated him with. 

Afterwards, he had escorted Sansa to the feast and he believed that he had succeeded in erasing his past grievance from her mind. When he had seen her in the godswood the next morning, his hope for a loving relationship with his future wife had reawakened. She was everything Jon could have ever wished for, beautiful, witty, and kind. As she walked away from him after first light, he had been left staring at her. 

Later, Jon sat in his solar and referred with his steward about the costs of his wedding feast combined with the sums they would have to spend when his father and his men arrived at Dragonstone. His reluctance about spending the gold was overshadowed by the excitement that overtook his heart when he thought about seeing his mother and half siblings so soon. Queen Lyanna had personally gone to Kings Landing to serve as an invite for the wedding. He had not seen his mother for close to two moons now, and he truly missed her. 

Suddenly, he heard a hasty knock on the door of his solar and before he could allow the person in, the door flew open. Arya burst into the room. 

"Why does my sister think we've been carrying on some sort of a torrid love affair?" The girl looked intimidating due to the tone of her words despite her short stature. 

"What? Who- Sansa? Sansa believes we're in love?" Jon could not resist laughing at the thought, his little sister had misunderstood a great deal. "Why do you suppose so?"

"I suppose so because she just came to me and gave me a long and heartfelt apology about my beloved being her betrothed! I wanted to retch!" She stamped her foot in an approximation of disgust, then sank down on the chair he had previously been sitting on. 

Jon stopped laughing. "What, really? You're not just trying to trick me into looking stupid?" 

"No! Why would I jape about something like this, Jon, honestly. Use your head." Arya was the only person who had every spoken to him this frankly, save his mother. 

"Gods. That was why she asked me why I was not escorting you to the feast rather than her!" Jon ran a hand through his hair worriedly, he could not believe he had let everything go so wrong so quickly. "Do you think it's because of what happened when you lot arrived? I really didn't recognize her! It's not my fault!" 

"Gods know, I don't even want to know how she came to that conclusion. You're my brother! What are we, Targa-" Arya stopped, suddenly halting her words when she realized that this was not really her brother she was talking to but Jaeherys Targaryen. 

Jon felt his heart sink a little when he remembered that Arya really was not his sister. His sister was Rhaenys, who really was betrothed to her brother. When he felt himself beginning to descend into the well of loneliness he often found himself in, he fought it off and tried to think of Sansa. Sansa, who would be his sister if he had been a Stark. He fought off a shudder, no amount of Targaryen lineage would make him think that was a desirable fate. 

Arya hesitated before she spoke again, this time in a much more muted tone. "Gods, Jon. I told her that you're my brother, but she just said that you're as much my brother as you are her's. She also told me I did not have to pretend in front of her. It would have been a sweet thought, if it hadn't been making me shudder in disgust."

"Tell me how to fix this. I need help, obviously she isn't convinced of my faithfulness towards our betrothal and I really do not want Sansa to remain in this mistaken conclusion." Arya was the only other female he was close to who also knew Sansa, she was the only one who would be able to help. 

"Just tell her! Sit her down somewhere, and knock some sense into her head! She's stupid, but she was kind about this when she didn't have to be. You have to let her know." Arya said it so finally that Jon decided he would do it the next time he saw Sansa. 

After that, Arya sat and talked with him for a little while until her septa finally realized where she was and wrangled her away to her room with warnings about telling Lady Stark. 

As it happened, Jon did not speak with Sansa again that day. His hours were spent with the steward and at dinner, Sansa walked from and to her chambers with Lady Stark. 

At night, the prince slept a fitful sleep from which he woke very early. He slipped away from his chamber and walked his way through the castle to Aegon's Garden by memory, as it was dark in the halls and he had forgotten to bring a candle. 

When Jon was finally sitting on a log in the overgrown garden, he let out an anxious sigh. He would have to explain a lot to Sansa that day, if she made good on her promise and came. 

Sansa proved to be true to her word and arrived in the garden only a few minutes after he did. Seeing her made him forget his worries for a moment. Just the sight of her flaming hair, tied up in a thick Northern braid and swept to the side of her head, was enough to make him pause for a moment. Her eyes were so chillingly blue and their depth spoke multitudes even without her uttering a word. She truly was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. As he was gazing at her face, she quirked her eyebrow questioningly. 

Jon flushed a splotchy red, embarrassed at having been caught staring at her. Sansa laughed, albeit not unkindly. She came forward and sat down next to him, just like the day before. Her laughs and her words and her kindnesses were all present, but the past day, Jon had realized that Sansa was not truly herself with him. After all, she had not asked him about his supposed affair with Arya. 

"You look deep in thought today, my prince. Would it be better if I left you to yourself?" Sansa spoke sweetly, actually engaged as a genuine care, not as someone who wanted to leave and was providing excuses for it. 

"Not at all, Sansa. Your absence could never make me happy." He noticed she blushed a deep red, which she tried to hide by looking down. In lieu of a reply, she traced the back of his hand with her long fingers. He decided now was the time. 

"Sansa... I have heard the most surprising thing today. From your sister. She told me you were under the impression that there was a romance going on between her and I?" As Jon spoke, her face grew pale. 

"I do not like to presume things but with what you did when we arrived? One would have to forgive me for thinking this, would they not?" A challenge shone through the sadness in her eyes. 

"It was a mistake! An honest mistake, Sansa. I did not recognize your face and from what I knew about you, you usually travel in a litter, not on a horse! Especially not for such a long journey like this. I was going to help you off regardless, even when I thought you were just Arya's companion, but I really did not know it was you." Jon paused for breath. "How can I make you believe me?" His tone was pleading and his words were as true as it got. 

As he watched, Sansa's face disappeared under a cloud of disbelief. "You recognized Arya, and yet you didn't recognize me? Did you barely look at me when you were at Winterfell?"

"That is not fair, Sansa. Arya looks much the same as before and she had written to me about her love for riding before. Everything I've ever heard about you pointed to the contrary! I really am sorry."

Sansa's expression changed until she looked as if she believed him. Jon was beside himself, until a familiar challenging line appeared at her brow again. "And what have you heard about me, Jon? From whom? Without ever writing me beyond passing fancies, you presumed to know me! Am I not to feel misunderstood, then? Fine, you did not snub me for Arya. Then. How about every time you put your pen to a paper to write to her and sent me barely a footnote compared to that length? Should I not feel snubbed that my betrothed had such little interest in me, until he saw an outwardly beautiful maiden and decided she was worthy of his princely affections?" By the time she stopped speaking, she was almost shouting. Her tone was caustic and her words tore at his heart. Was this what she truly thought of him? 

"You never wrote me, either! All those years, you never sat down and thought, oh, maybe I should write my betrothed a letter that does not just barely touch upon my life, but is an actual open rendering of my heart. Of your heart, which by all rights should have belonged to me!" Jon felt equally furious by then. "But no, you were lost in your romances and your neat little life. You didn't have room in your heart for this bastard prince, did you?"

"Romances? Romances! Gods above, I have barely ever thought about another man since you left Winterfell! And I never sent you an honest letter because you never asked, Jon! When did you ever show the slightest bit of interest about hearing what was going on in my- what did you call it?- my neat little life. Is that what you think of me? That I'm a vapid girl with a head full of stupid ideas about romance? Why are we here then, Jon? You would much rather sit with Arya!"  
As she made to stand up with an aborted little sob, Jon took her hand and pulled her back down. Her eyes were glistening with tears, but she had not yet let any fall. 

"Sansa, listen to me. I was interested, I am interested, and I will always be interested. I was just a scared little boy and I did not think you had any care for me at all. By the time we grew up, we had established a pattern and there was little I could do. And no, I would rather sit with you. I would rather hold your hand. You are my betrothed, you are my beloved. Arya is but my sister!" 

Her final blow was almost deadly. "Targaryens have a very long history of wedding their sisters, do they not, Jaeherys?" She turned her face towards him with an almost wistful look on it. 

Jon released her hand like it had burnt him. He did not mind being a Targaryen, he was a son of the most conquering, the most proud dynasty to ever rule to the world. What he did mind was being Jaeherys Targaryen. The bastard prince, the forgotten prince, the prince abandoned by his family, the prince loved only by his mother. At a young age, he had stopped thinking of himself as Jaeherys Targaryen, he was just Jon. He would have loved being Jon Stark, part of another dynasty with kings at it's back, a dynasty with family at it's back. But alas, he was not a Stark. He was a Targaryen. And Sansa had just thrown that in his face. 

He began softly, "Have you wondered why I have made an approximation of a godswood in Dragonstone? Why I pray to the gods of my  
mother, rather than the Seven?"

Sansa's face appeared confused, then unsure about why he had led their conversation to that point. She motioned with her head for him to continue. 

" It is because I have only ever known my mother. She is the parent who has lived with me, the parent who has loved me. Her gods proved strong enough to give love to a bastard child, turn him into a prince while my father's gods sat and watched from a distance. Did you know I have met my father, my siblings, only seven times in my entire life? Could you imagine a life like that? A life where Arya, Robb, Bran and Rickon never existed? A life where you never had the guiding hand of your father at all? Could you imagine wanting to be a Stark when no Stark wanted you back?" His voice broke at the end of the last word, he had been getting choked up progressively through his entire explanation. 

Sansa's hand was on her mouth, her eyes a startlingly beautiful mix of worried, caring and apologetic. "I could never claim to understand, Jon, but know this. Once we are wed, you will get that family you desire. They will be like you, ice and fire running through their veins. We could call them Visenya and Torrhen and Aemon and Lyarra. They would have a part of you and a part of me. We could be your family, Jon, I will be your family." She spoke the words with such determination and the utmost care in her tone, that he felt his eyes moisten. 

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, blindly grasping for her hand and leaning back until he was of a height to lay his head on her shoulder. Sansa turned her head onto his as he sat like that. 

First light came and went, the garden bright and beautiful when lit up. Only when Jon felt utterly at peace with himself, did he raise his head. Sansa looked back at him steadily. They were so close that he felt the breath she exhaled on his mouth. Her eyes were on his, they were dark and intoxicating. He felt himself beginning to be pulled towards her even more than he already was. To his surprise, she covered the last distance and covered his lips with her own. 

Sansa was obviously as inexperienced with this as he was, but her tongue along the seam of his lips made him want to groan. It made his blood run hot, the way she pulled herself closer to him while not breaking contact. He felt her hands in his hair and as he moved his hands to her waist, she pulled on it. He really did groan a little then. Gods, she was the perfect woman. 

After a few minutes, they hesitantly pulled apart from each other. Sansa looked as nervous as he felt. He reached out and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. 

Suddenly, she giggled. "I would not mind fighting every day if every day ended like this."

Jon laughed alongside her. Suddenly, he remembered what they had been fighting about in the first place. "Sansa. You do not still believe that Arya and I have been carrying on behind your back, right?"

To his relief, she only smiled and laughed again. "I was nervous and it was the only reasonable conclusion I could come to at the time. I know better now."

"Good. Because I would not want to leave you with those thoughts still in your head."

"Leave me? Why would you-" she cut off her own sentence, as if she was suddenly realizing it was pure daylight. "Gods! I have to get back to my chambers."

She scrambled up, disentangling their hands. Then, she leaned back down and kissed him chastely, before quickly walking away. 

"Goodbye! I'll see you later!" Jon called behind Sansa, laughing at her haste. 

"You'll see me again every day for the rest of your life, Jon." Her last words to him before she disappeared across the drawbridge out of the garden made Jon feel a tiny shiver in his heart. He really would see her every day for the rest of his life. He wasn't sure if he deserved such a privilege as that, and yet he was utterly thankful to the gods for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was very rushed and probably not very good, but at least it's off my chest right? 
> 
> (im always thirsty for feedback of any kind)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this and I'm not sure whether I'll continue it or not. I don't think it's worth being completed tbh but my obsessive compulsions won't let me leave something half finished so this will be done by next week probably
> 
> Also once again, this is only my second fic im a true novice so please go easy on me :)


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